


The Space You’ve Filled (When The Universe Blinks)

by Coffee_Scribbles



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Reality, Dimension Travel, F/M, Get together fic, M/M, Multi, Other, and also having a few too many secrets, but mostly just Batman not knowing how to Feelings, some smut later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 09:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Scribbles/pseuds/Coffee_Scribbles
Summary: Trust.Batman isn’t exactly known for it.Maybe he has his reasons, maybe he doesn't.





	1. Prologue, Love and Affection

Clark isn’t sure when exactly it first dawned on him, that his affections toward Lois could never be more than just… affection. One sided and hollow.  
Because sure, she adores Superman, but she doesn’t even notice Clark, and the real him, he hates to admit, is more Clark than Superman.  
Sure he’s not as bumbling or cautious as Clark Kent, but he’s not as suave and charming and emotionally-indestructible as Superman. He’s caught in the middle. He’s Kal-El of a destroyed homeworld, fighting the good fight, but also deeply in need of someone who understood that he couldn’t always be strong, can’t always save the day, that he can’t always be… Superman.

Maybe that’s why he let himself smile when Diana stood a bit closer than necessary. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mind how her hand brushed his as they walk and gently chat about the most random things. Everything other than ‘Superman’ and the hero-worship the title draws.  
Maybe that’s why, when she calls him ‘Superman’ anywhere that’s not the field, he has to bite his tongue to keep from correcting her.  
Because when he’s with her, he’s not suave or charming or emotionally-indestructible.  
He’s just…

“Clark.”  
He finds himself muttering the correction once, the hollow name tight on his shoulders, stuffy and baggy like an ill-fitting suit.  
It’s dark when they’re alone in the halls of the watchtower, but that’s okay because they’re alone together, even if it is three in the morning.  
And when she hears him say it, a word, a name. Something so simple and dull, but she responds to it like she’s seeing the sunrise for the first time. And she looks up at him, and gifts him the warmest smile he’s ever been in the presence of, beaming even as she corrects herself.

“Clark~” but coming from her, the name is form fitting, tailored to everything he is, and everything he know’s he’s not. It’s a title, a badge pinned to his chest and worn with honor. And she moves on, but it’s different now.  
Not in a bad way, he realizes as they move down the hall amidst the lonely space-station together. But they’re not alone. Never alone.  
A few days later they find that in all ways, including physical, things have changed. At first, he cant stop fretting over it.  
It’s different. They’re closer now.  
But then he realizes that it’s not a bad thing.  
They’re closer now.  
Hands brush more frequently as they swing and, as they walk —even though they can both fly, they both share a liking for the more grounded, more real feeling of simple steps— he finds himself thinking about how easy it would be to clasp her gentle, calloused hands in his large smooth ones.

He calls her Wonder Woman, she corrects him all the same.

“Diana,” she states, her voice even like the flow of a gentle river, direct and ever moving, but a little sour. And he realizes, belatedly, maybe he’s not the only one who understands the difference, the divide. Clark Kent, Kal-El, Superman. Wonder Woman, Diana Prince, Princess Diana of Themyscira.  
So he nods, and he smiles, and she mirrors the action.

“Okay, Diana.” He says, a little unsteady. But when, a few minutes later, their hands are in each others… everything feels a little stronger, more solid, finally… Okay.  
Neither of them are entirely sure when it first dawned on them, that they could be more than comrades in arms, but now that they have, everything feels okay.  
In fact, everything feels great.


	2. Chapter One, The Taste of You is Bittersweet

Batman was tired. But what else was new?  
He entered the cafeteria, the crowd of heroes parting like the red sea to Moses, as his dark and intimidating stature easily glided straight toward the coffee machine. He could hear whispers, theories of whether or not he was really unpowered, really just a human.  
Fixing a new pot, Batman found himself entertained by the easy din and their inane ‘proof’ that he was superhuman in some way.  
After all, he may have given up my myth status when he joined the Justice League, but that didn’t mean he had to give up all the fun.  
Like how, unbeknownst to him, Batman could obviously fly, given how he glided through rooms, going unheard by even those with super-human senses. In reality, this was a high mixture of sound muffling tech, assassin training, and an illusion caused by his cape’s drag.  
Or how he was obviously from the future, as he seemed able and ready with a ‘contingency plan’ for even the strangest of circumstances, not to mention his futuristic tech.  
Now all that was just a cocktail of paranoia and skepticism, as well as some creative input from his Robins as he evaluated everyone’s current known enemies, as well as the strangest things said enemies may or may not try to do to them, and made plans and weaponry accordingly.  
Or even how he seemed damn near indestructible, pretty much at the same level as Superman, except with no exact ‘Kryptonite’ someone could forge into a blade and stab him with.  
Nah, a normal knife would have to do. Stitches were becoming like another man’s needlepoint for poor Alfred these days.  
Which reminded him, the kids had been recently pestering the butler to take a day off to relax; he’d snort at the hypocrisy coming from his kids if he didn’t deeply agree.

The coffee machine beeped, it’s toneless call alerting him that the new pot was done and pulling him from his slight stupor.  
He just as easily noticed the hall had become eerily silent as he poured himself a mug of the dark, bitter sustenance that likely comprised more than half his bloodstream these days.

Superman and Wonder Woman entered the room, unaware of their disturbance as they so casually bantered. Batman wondered, for half a moment, why this was so exceptional for everyone to stop and stare. They’d been acting like an old married couple since the day they’d met.  
Then, he noticed that they were holding hands, leaning close, and these new developments in their body language drew him to a single conclusion.

“Finally,” he huffed in an easy, short breath. Something that, if he wasn’t Batman, might almost be considered laughter.  
Those two had been dancing around each other since they met.  
On instinct, he’d poured two more cups of coffee, emptying the pot and preparing the mugs the way both of them liked it.  
It was as instinctive as it was easy, in Clark’s mug he added heavy cream, with a touch of sweetener. For Diana, he made sure to go heavy on both the cream and sugar, diluting the drink such that it barely tasted like coffee.  
Bruce simply took his black, and before he had even fully registered what he was doing, he was at their table, presenting them the hot drinks.  
A second after realizing this, as well as the fact that they were both most definitely together now, even sitting at a two person table, and he was absolutely intruding; he felt meek, and meek is never a thing The Batman felt.  
His brain ran rampant, blooming with pandemonium that would never be shown, searching only to end up squandering excuses that really didn't make sense for an intrusion-  
And then they looked at him, as if having expected it, as if it was truly just natural. It was affectionate, the way their hands brushed his, taking the drinks from his hands and sending warm signals straight to his heart, even through the dark gauntlets.  
It was easy, it was instinctive.  
It was right.  
They didn’t even have to thank him with words, they just smiled and it was like the sun was warming his very soul. He wanted to bask in it, bathe in the feeling if he could-

“How long, exactly, are you planning on standing there?” Wonder Woman- no, Diana spoke. Her voice was no war cry, it held no vengeful sharpness, no ferocity, no wrath. Just ease, peace and slight amusement.  
“Come, sit,” she invited, just as easily.  
As seemed to always be the state of things, the entire floor was watching them, and doing a truly shameful job of hiding their gawking stares.  
He obliged, grabbing an open chair from one of the nearby tables, who’s occupants pretended to busy themselves by staring quite intently at each other’s hands and the table alike.  
If he weren’t Batman, he might have laughed at the sheer absurdity of the scene.  
But he was, so he simply gave a slight exhale as he sat down at the table that was now for three.  
It was odd how easy it felt, from two, to three. A line with two points, finite and flat and strong, to a triangle. Equilateral, connected.  
Diana and Clark had gone back to talking about nothing of consequence, occasionally glancing at him, where he’d hum thoughtfully, maybe nod or shake his head depending on what they’d said.  
But it wasn’t awkward. They hadn’t invited him out of obligation. He wasn’t a third wheel, when they asked for his ideas on a subject it wasn’t out of courtesy, it was because they truly wanted to know where he stood.  
He was respected, he was among equals.  
Those equals just so happened to be immortal, untouchable, indestructible warriors who looked like they belonged on the cover of Vogue.

 

“I was thinking about that as well,” Diana began, “but given the… unpredictability, of our schedules, it’s hard to come up with a good time.” She took a long sip of the warm, sweet drink that had been so thoughtfully prepared just for her.  
She spared a glance at the cloaked, inimitable figure who’d gifted it to her, humming with her appreciation for both the warmth and the taste.  
If Batman, Bruce, a shadow with the approximate temperament of a glacier and the emotional capability of a teaspoon, noticed her appreciation, he said nothing of it.

“We do have weekly meetings.” Clark lifted his hand in a half-hearted gesture.   
“What about right after those? Go straight to the sparring mats, work off some of that restless energy from sitting around for the whole meeting?” Clark looked at both to gauge their reactions, and even if his expression held still in his blank callousness, Bruce had to admit, it was actually an… okay idea.

“It would assure disagreements between team-members are settled,” Diana’s tone was uncharacteristically snarky, and as they laughed, Bruce felt warmth fill him.  
He took a long sip of his disgustingly bitter coffee to make sure his lips stayed pressed in their usual disadvantageous line.

“What do you think, Batman?” The title sounded intimate on their lips, and as they both turned to him, he found himself pausing, lifting his mug to his lips thoughtfully, as if considering what he was going to say.  
He wasn’t really, he was just watching them, considering their actions and likely reactions. Usually, he would’ve just nodded or shook his head, stating maybe four or five words before letting them get back to talking without him. But… the way they looked at him, with such respect, such trust…  
He sighed.

“It gives good team-building opportunities,” he placed his still steaming mug onto the table with a satisfying thump. “But even now some Leaguers are unable to attend the weekly meetings.”  
“Elongating that time-period may dissuade some from bothering at all, especially if it promises to be taxing both mentally and physically.” He paused for a single moment.  
“The last thing we need is uninformed, and untrained League members, frolicking about and marring any positive public image we may have.”  
They seemed a little more than shocked at the fact that he hadn’t just shrugged and nonchalantly expressed some sort of diluted distain, but actually opened up and shared his insights.  
Diana absolutely beamed, Clark not far behind as they both smiled widely.

“Those are some very good points, Batman!” Clark stated, maybe a little bit to enthusiastically. Diana nodded along, her posture straighter than it had been a minute ago.  
Batman gave a noncombatant grunt, and took another dragging sip of his coffee to temper his rising blush at the unexpected, and rather vibrant, praise.  
He kept his breathing even and his heart rate steady, knowing Clark could be listening for both and unwilling to let anything betray his cold facade.  
Then again, it wasn’t much of a facade anyway; not around them.

“I do think it’s a good idea to add in physical training as well as our meetings though. A lot of the younger members don’t exactly have a safe place to bond and train with anyone other than their mentors, if they have mentors at all. And I feel it could really expand our horizons…”  
Clark rambled for a little while longer about the pros and cons of it, and Diana hung off every word, both occasionally slipping in a joke or two and Bruce found them watching for his reaction each time. Clark seemed to be putting in special effort at that, his knee even nudging at Bruce’s in the way he tended to. He kept every muscle in his body tense as the touch-starved kryptonian rubbed his shin against Bruce’s, and Bruce honestly found himself leaning into it, enjoying it.  
He tried not to think about that, or how he didn’t move away. How his heart soared at their laughter, or the gentle echo in his chest as they clasped both of their right hands over the table, their left’s sitting easily in their laps.  
He wondered how it would feel to simply take their free hands, beneath the table, away from prying eyes. How Clark would use his x-ray vision to confirm the sensation, how he’d blush and look away like the shy farm-boy he was raised to be, but Clark’s hand would be muscular and smooth and strong and solid in his, and he wouldn’t back away from it.  
He thought about how little effort it would take to glide his hand into Diana’s, her battle-calloused fingers intertwining with his, the dainty yet firm embrace shared with a knowing smile and maybe a small laugh too.  
And then they’d share a look, privy only to them, and-

Luckily, before Bruce did anything too stupid, despite how his fingers itched toward the embrace and the other two didn’t seem to notice at all, his communicator sounded, which did draw their attention.

“Batman here,” he stated cooly, clicking a hand to the waiting ear piece where the other balled to a fist on his thigh. He stood before Oracle could even say what was going on, abandoning his coffee mug on the table, chastising himself inwardly both for his thoughts toward his friends —who were in a perfectly happy, monogamous relationship, with each other— as well as for not noticing the time.  
At their worried looks, he knew his immediate shift from moderately-relaxed to tightly-coiled set off alarm bells in the close hero’s minds, but he had no time, nor the self control to sooth them without saying or doing something irrevocably stupid. 

“Where are you? Damian just went out on patrol. Alone,” Oracle’s familiar voice chastised him. So, playing off the apparent urgency, he moved toward the exit, cape billowing tightly behind him.

“I’m on my way.” His voice was icy as ever, holding no trace of whatever warmth had coerced him into speaking more than four words to Diana and Clark.  
And just like that, he was gone.


	3. Chapter Two, At the Edge of Your Vision

Two weeks passed and no one had heard a word from any of the bat-clan, excluding Oracle who was to busy keeping the Justice League running to provide comment, and a few of the bat-kids who came and went without a word. Not that this was odd, of course —excluding the Nightwing not talking, because that was definitely odd—, they seemed to come and go as they pleased, but after Bruce had spoken to them so easily… Clark and Diana at least, kinda felt like, maybe, just maybe, they’d gotten through to him? Maybe he didn’t feel the need to be so cold, so cautious around them?  
Of course, it wasn't unusual that he’d speak to them more than others, but that was always in private. And yes, the trio had always been closer than anyone else in the Justice League, but he was still curt with them. Not as callous as he was with anyone else, and there were times he was downright kind, even open; though they were few and far between.  
Even so, they did kind of have a… bond, of sorts.  
They were the main founders, as well as the big powerhouses and leaders of the group.  
Sure, everyone else was great, but the younger ones tended to get a bit starry-eyed. And gets a little annoying to be idolized by pretty much everyone, after all, they were still just… people.  
Kinda.  
Maybe that was why the trio had always been so close. There was no one else that treated them as equals, that they stood on even ground with.  
At least, that was what they thought.

Diana and Clark had gone out to dinner that night, just to a quaint pizza place around the bend from the Daily Planet, both finding that, even in civvies, they turned quite a few heads.  
They, of course, got a table in the back corner that the florescent lights didn't quite reach, cloaked in a shadow that Bruce would be proud of.  
Clark had laughed the kind of laugh that made Diana’s chest feel lighter after she’d commented on it, and, of course, that brought up that seemingly untouched topic.  
Bruce.  
Or, more notably, his recent ‘opening up’, ie, showing an inkling of emotion in the presence of others. This was after, of course, Clark had to teach Diana how to actually eat the pizza she’d ordered.

“I mean, you’ve known him longer than anyone,” Diana stated easily nibbling on the crust of her, nearly finished, pepperoni pizza.  
Clark snorted slightly at the idea that he was qualified to talk about Bruce in any way, shape, or form, then attempted to cover the unattractive sound with a loud cough.  
Diana just smiled fondly at him.

“To be fair, Diana, I don’t feel like that means too much.” Clark took a sip of his soda, Diana just raised a brow, awaiting further explanation.  
Clark sighed, setting down the styrofoam cup and rubbing at the back of his neck in that adorable way he did when he was feeling sheepish or unsure of himself.  
“He’s just… ah, it’s hard to describe.” He paused, obviously trying to form words that were not coming easily.  
“He locks up his emotions a lot; even though he cares so much about everyone. And he-he’s always learning, and openly challenges anything anyone has reason to think isn’t right- and, he, I just, I don’t…” Clark ran a hand through his hair.  
“He’s just got a lot of… layers, to him. And he’s so… Intense, you know?” He stumbled over his words so much, it was hard to believe he was a journalist, let alone secretly Superman.  
She giggled, just a little, and he pouted, then sighed.

Batman- Bruce, was so hard to explain sometimes.  
And yes, it was true that Clark known the man for longer than most of the league combined, but Bruce was in control.  
He was always in control.  
And Bruce only let people know what he wanted them to know, no more, and no less.  
So, after Superman had been officially introduced to the media, and a dark figure just sort of… appeared, without a sound, without a trace, revealing himself on the balcony of a seemingly random balcony in metropolis, Clark found himself a bit intimidated and, admittedly, a little intrigued by the shadowed man he knew now to be Bruce Wayne, Playboy Extraordinaire…  
Clark found a few to many thoughts directed at wherever the man under the masks truly lay, between the womanizing act and the dark ghoul of the night, where was the overlap? Where was the real man, beneath it all? Did one even really exist anymore? Or was he a duality, split into fractions of himself, like Clark to Superman, or Diana to Wonder Woman?  
After that, harmless fantasies began to pop up, not too far from his usual daydreams of sprawling hillsides far from the hustle and bustle of city life, and the company of a fellow journalist, laughing as her floral sundress danced in the wind and clasped at his hand in the way she only cared to do when he was wearing spandex and the big S shield.  
Only now his company was of fairer skin and broader, muscular shoulders. No longer of high feminine laughter, but of deep wistful sighs that soared through the open air like a bat through the night. The scent no longer of dry parchment and lavender shampoo, but of sweat and sweet leather, of cognac and expensive cologne, along with a dry sort of scent that reminded Clark of city lights, headstones, and roses.  
His fantasies were no longer of Lois, but of him.  
Bruce would turn, black hair tousled just so, the way about him, and about his clothing style, looking like he’d recently stepped out of an old, monotone photograph, taken on a prairie or ocean coast somewhere.  
All excluding his eyes.  
Like thousands of gemstones, shining, stark against ruffled hair as the sun set over the horizon, and Bruce would admit, in a voice low and sweeter than a whisper, that though the night and the shadows did him well, he would always enjoy the sunlight, what he protected.  
And Bruce would look at him, like he was the sun incarnate, and suddenly that sentence had a whole new meaning.

Clark blinked heavily for a moment, a sensation of warmth clasping his hand startling him slightly. He looked to see a hand draped gently over his on the dinner table, and he blinked again, looking up and immediately feeling guilty over thinking about such an intimate scene while on a date with Diana.  
Even though he didn’t know if he… if Bruce, even liked men. And even if Bruce did, it was such a tiny chance that Bruce would ever think of him that way… It was practically impossible; barely more than a half-forgotten dream.  
Still, it was still wrong.

“Yes, I do know,” she smiled softly, answering a question he had to scour his mind to remember.  
And then she was holding his hand, turning it, tracing small heart-shapes onto his palms with the pad of her thumb…  
And really, no dreams, forgotten or not, mattered to him. She was here.

He breathed in the stale air of the pizzeria and suddenly found himself longing for the open, sapphire skies of Smallville.  
And then he looked into her ocean eyes. Blue, passionate, but so very different from the unflinching gunmetal of Bruce’s.  
Hers were open seas, constantly shifting and changing with the tide.   
Bruce’s seemed cold, like steel, unbreakable like diamonds amongst a world of burning coal. Coal that didn't go through enough pressure to form that kind of stunning resilience.

Of course, Diana didn’t know it, but she was thinking the exact same thing he was.  
Clark’s eyes were like open skies to her, cloudless and warm like the sun’s coddling shine. Made for growth of the whole world. He was freedom, absolute and unchanging with a truly staggering amount of choices.  
Freedom to leave, but beckoning to stay.  
Bruce’s eyes were far, far different.  
His were like ice or a metal blade, cold and solid and unwavering in pure ruthless determination. Unnatural, man-made to be stronger, better, more.  
Challenge.  
The option to try, but not without warning of the dark beneath the surface.  
That was the thing about her.  
She always liked a challenge.

“He can be a bit intense, can’t he?” She asked, her voice coming out dreamier, fonder, more lovingly than she’d meant it to.  
Clark’s eyebrows raised, shock partial to his sun-lit features.

“Do you…” He trailed off, she recoiled, the few freckles dotting her cheeks lighting a soft pink. Diana looked down, one hand pulling away from where it rest in Clark’s, the other fidgeting with the edge of her lavender sweater.  
She knew men could be so idiotically jealous sometimes, but she didn’t want any secrets coming in between them.

“It’s not like anything can come of it, he’s too…” Diana scoured for the word. If there was one that could properly describe the duality that was the man she so admired.

“Too… him?” Clark said, as if that was everything.  
She nodded once, and their hands found each other again, across the lopsided pizzeria table.

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered, voice low in his chest, as if scared to be heard; his eyes twitching down and away.  
His head snapped up a second later, seeming to realize what he’d said. He went bright red, flushing to the tips of his ears.  
“I-I, ah,” Clark began to stutter, seeming to want to explain himself, to take back what he’d said.

Diana smirked knowingly.

“Oh?” She teased, looking up at him through the fan of her lashes.

“I never thought you the type, Kal,” her voice was sly and smooth and he hated the fact that he couldn’t deny it.

“I-I just, he, I, he worries me, and I originally thought it was just being a team-mate but then he-he… I uh, I thought about him in the hay fields from back in Smallville, and I, his eyes, and, well,” Clark stumbled over his words again, but instead of continuing to tease, Diana’s expression turned earnest.  
She tried to draw his blushing gaze back up to hers with a gentle, yet firm squeeze of his hands and a wistful sigh.

“I know,” she whispered, her tone breathy and urning.

“I feel the same.”

The admission hung in the air for a second, then two, and neither really knew what to do about it.  
They stayed quiet, he didn’t look up, staring at their hands like they’d presented him with an unsolvable problem. The gordian knot.

“Well, if we both feel that way…” Their eyes finally met, and together, they drew the sword that cut the knot in half.  
A simple solution to a complex problem. An idea shared between the two lovers, and they decided, in that moment, that three might not be a crowd after all.

After that shared thought passed, both took a moment. Clark thinking of skylines, endless as the fields in smallville and the towering buildings in Gotham, and Diana of possibilities, of open skies and freedom and of a challenge set long ago. A challenge she thought she’d lost.  
But he was Superman, and he kinda made you think you could do anything, so, she smiled.  
He mirrored the expression.

“So… In man’s-world, are there any customs to follow?” Diana asked, more than a little unsure and ever-so-slightly wondering what differences there may be between here and Themyscira.  
Especially after their particular mishaps involving a throned bracelets, several ribbons, and a coconut.  
He gave a small laugh, but still handled the nectarine seed that she’d strung onto a necklace with care. It had been her gift to him, a prime example of how her culture began courtship, and that had meant she was truly serious about this. And that, was something he would always adore.

“If there is, I have no idea,” Clark confirmed her suspicions, and they both shared a slight laugh, then felt a little uncomfortable.  
They were both somewhat alien to this, him in a more literal sense, but it still stood.  
Diana squeezed Clark’s hands once more, and as she felt his strong fingers entangle with hers, warmth spread through her like the sun’s morning light.

“We’ll get through this together,” she murmured, sounding surer than she really was.  
“Besides,” she gestured, shrugging slightly, “back on Themyscira, there aren’t many rigid rules to love, many do not care terribly for monogamy. I… might go about asking my sisters for assistance?” It came out as more of a question than she’d intended, but had the desired affect.  
They were trying to capture the heart of a man who’s very image was one of indestructible self-control and, more often than not, heartlessness. So, to do it right, they’d need all the information they could get.  
Clark nodded, a slow movement that gained strength as, suddenly, he felt a lot more sure of this, a lot more sure of them.  
Sure, they didn't know if Bruce felt the same way, for both or even one of them. But it couldn't hurt to try?

“I’m sure if I looked it up, I could find something on the internet? And I could scour for other kinds of sources?” He asked, suddenly looking a lot more like Clark Kent - Investigative Reporter, than mere minutes before.  
“In case there are differences between Themyscira and here?” Clark and Diana shared a laugh, and for a moment afterward, he simply admired her, like she held the sun in the palm of her hand.  
And when she smiled and nodded her assent, he absolutely beamed.  
He made her feel like she was the most powerful thing in the world, like she could do anything.  
She comforted him, made him feel like it was all really going to be okay, allowed him to be weak where he needed to be.  
They were perfect together, complete. Taking each other’s hands, they exited, having already paid and cleaned up, despite the insistence of the wait-staff who assured them they didn’t need to.  
Clark’s farm-boy upbringing reared its head as he cleaned off a few stains from Diana’s beginning failures at eating her greasy pizza, and she helped him carry the dishes to the sink as a very flustered employee insisted that it was not necessary, but thanked them anyway.  
Clark held her hand on the way out, and Diana smiled at him, a soft expression that looked  
Hours later, in each other’s embrace in the depths of the night, they focused their curiosity of the world, to each other, then from each other to their pleasure, their bodies.  
Gentle moans shared like music notes, stringing together in chords and melodies that they learned together. Kisses shared like secrets, kept and held tightly to their chests. It was sweet and new and clumsy, and, really, they couldn’t help for it to be.  
She was from an island of only women, and he was definitely no woman. Not to mention that, well, he had never been around anyone who captured his heart, and cherished it enough to help him discover himself.  
So they mapped each other, like constellations in the sky, like unchartered worlds, they became attune to each other in a way neither had ever felt.  
And yet, as the roaring waves of passion dulled to gentle lapping on the shores, as they lay; sweaty, kissing, curling in on each other beneath the covers as they caught their breath, they couldn’t help but feel like if they had someone who knew…  
And suddenly, there was an empty space in their bed, or maybe that space had always been they just now noticed its lack.  
And in that moment, the smell of sex still hanging in the air like an intimate aphrodisiac, they shared a passionate kiss and knew that tomorrow, tomorrow they would begin their search.  
And, no matter how long it took.  
He would be theirs.


	4. Chapter Three, Hidden in Plain Sight

Gotham was a city of tunnels.  
Old sewers the size of walkways; caving subway systems rotting and out of use. Natural caves filled with pools of saltwater and calcium. They were unnatural labyrinths of mortar and lime.  
She wasn’t the only city of tunnels, no not by far; the Parisian catacombs stretched for miles, with a mere fraction open to the public for tours. The majority of them unmapped, and thus considered extremely dangerous; they were far too easy to become lost in.  
Whole secret societies —not all inherently malicious— lived in the Parisian catacombs, and many lost corpses turned up inside them. Hidden entrances and blocked off passages littered the city, most forgotten age and a stench like rot that lingered in the gutters.  
Paris was, for all its light and bluster, a comparatively small city. Even all that lay stagnant underneath seemed minuscule in comparison.  
Gotham was far, far larger than Paris.  
Yes, perhaps Gotham’s tunnels had seen fewer total known bodies, but its blood ran freshest. Its decay the coldest. Its shadows the dark and longest.

Speaking of shadows; most people find it rather rude to speak of them while they’re listening. And in Gotham, the shadows are always listening.

He should know; he is one of them.

And as a shadow, it is in his nature to lurk, to listen, to watch.  
And as a shadow, it is Gotham that is his.  
His city, his home, a place where darkness floods the streets, and light dares not to linger any longer than it must; A place where, unlike all else in the world, and against every human instinct, the darkness is safer than the light.

And it was through the low-hanging storm clouds that lingered like cigarette smoke… she emerged.  
Amanda Blake Waller, a woman you’d never expect to linger among such sewage; dressed in suit and tie no less, with a flashlight in one hand and a gun, just in case, in the other.  
And by the click of her heel and the sneer on her lips, any shadow could see she was not in a patient mood.  
Batman, however, was just questioning if a woman who dared to wear heels and pearls in such a place was more parts brave or more idiotic, when he was knocked off his beat by the drum of her impatient nails on a rust-coated guard-rail.

She was waiting for someone; but who would a woman like she be meeting under such unpleasant circumstance?

This, of course was rhetorical, as the shadow —rather, the man— that slunk through the dark, dank, musty tunnels like living tar, emerged from his kingdom of darkness and into the light of her flashlight.

“You’re late,” Waller stated. The half turn it took to face The Batman was brimming with demand, the sneer on her lips mirroring her impatience.  
But her finger was not on the trigger, and she holstered her pistol, as per his request any time they met.

“You presume I wasn’t here the whole time,” he said, voice dark and sly.  
She narrowed her eyes, but otherwise said nothing.  
From the inside of her suit jacket, she pulled out a thick manilla envelope, and held it out to him.

 

The motion, quick, but a tad shaky, twisted his lips into a concentrated frown, and as he took the envelope. The contents: neatly pressed papers, were… lighter than he’d light  
He opened it and slid them out from their protective casing.

“This is everything?”  
He flipped through all the papers. It was a thin stack, maybe… eleven, double sided, obviously.

“Yes. This is all we have on the anomaly that brought you here sixteen years ago.”  
“Though I’m sure if you’d tell us why you need it-“

“All due respect Ms. Waller, but the less people who know of this incident, the better.”  
“Of all people, I’m sure you’d understand that.”

She shrugged.  
“And the Justice League, have they noticed anything… odd?”

“No. No change in their behaviors thus far.”

“Batman… I do trust that you will inform me if things change?”  
“You work alone, it’s hard to not see that.”  
“But you have allies, don’t forget it.”

Batman did nothing, the barest hint to any feeling being the centimeter narrowing of his eyes.  
“I’ll keep you notified.”

He turned away, slotting the papers back into the manilla envelope where they’d been stored, and tucking it safely away in a hidden compartment at his side.  
He slunk into the darkness, silently making his way deeper into the bowels of Gotham’s underground depths.

It was true, what Waller had said. He knew he had allies.  
But trust.  
Batman isn’t exactly known for it. And with good reason.  
His reasons often stemmed from his vigilance, or as many deemed it, paranoia. After all, if you never know who you can trust, how can you trust anyone?

Half way through the fourth turn of tunnels, through the musty silence and slow drip-drop of water making it’s way down, his communicator chirped.

“This is Wonder Woman speaking,” her voice, a command of authority, like true royalty, rung clear through his com.  
“The situation on Jerzach Street has been dealt with, but there is structural damage to several surrounding buildings. Calling all free hands in the area.”

Jerzach street, that was close. Well, not particularly close, but it was at the border of Metropolis and Gotham… and he wasn’t exactly far.  
Batman turned the corner, facing the wall, he pulled out a loose brick, and in the pannel behind it, entered his passcode and retinal scan.  
The wall rumbled open, revealing much cleaner, well kept passageways, and more importantly, the Batmobile.

“This is Batman,” Bruce radioed in. “ETA, ten minutes.”

Technically he was half an hour out. But, he was Batman.  
He was speeding out of the tunnels, through secret passageways and onto the mains streets of Gotham in seconds, he took back-roads nevertheless, the deep hum of the engine complementing the basic chatter and updates from the scene.  
His sons had apparently already locked down Penguin, who’s scheme should have taken them all night. So, they were heading for it too. Not that he was terribly surprised; they were his kids, the best of the best.  
He allowed himself a small smile.

“Hey B,” Nightwing’s voice chimed through the com’s, not the Justice League’s, but the Bat-specific-channels.

“Nightwing,” he greeted. He took a left turn.

“On your left!” Nightwing cheered with a sharp laugh. Bruce raised a brow and turned his gaze to his left.  
There, piled onto one bike, were Dick, Cass, and Damian. And next to them, were Jason and Tim.

Dick waved energetically at the Batmobile, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey there chum,” Bruce said, voice deep, yet carelessly soft.  
Their entire group took a right turn in sync, Bruce slowing the Batmobile such as to let his kids pass safely in front of him.

“Ey, you comin’ old man?” Jason said over the com, Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Not everything’s a race, little wing,” Dick tutted.

Bruce didn’t have to take his eyes off the road to know that Jason was flipping Dick off.

“Hood!” Damian exclaimed, at the same moment Dick loudly stuck his tongue out at Jason.  
“Nightwing, Black Bat and I would certainly beat you in a race if it came to it!” Damian said.

“Oh yeah, care to prove it?” Jason revved his engine.

“Guys, we’re almost there,” Tim inputted quickly, “can we do this later?”

“This is not over Todd,” Damian growled, but there was something akin to almost… playfulness there?  
Dick seemed to sense it too, as he didn’t try to dissuade the, what he would call a, ‘brotherly bonding moment’.

“Popcorn?” Was all Cass asked. Dick laughed.

“Sure Cassie.”

Bruce almost thought it was too soon when they arrived, and at this point, he didn’t even need the locator to tell him. He could see the instability of some of the buildings, the long cracks and broken windows there.  
They found a nearby alley way to park the vehicles, and grappled the three or so blocks to the scene.

Batman’s eyes narrowed; it was time to get to work.

One rather large building in particular seemed the focal point of it all, it had to be at least fourteen stories, double the lethal-fall of seven stories. But even with the firemen holding out a net; his cowl was reading four life-signs stuck too deep inside to get to from the windows.

Robin, who was the lightest, and Nightwing, the most agile, were already scaling the building for that very reason. And even if he wished he could accompany them, he knew his extra weight would only be a hinderance.  
So, he grappled to a nearby fire escape of a more structurally-sound building. Though this one was unfortunately on fire.

Batman pulled out his breathing mask and pulled it on, kicking in the door with a resounding bang off its rusted hinges. A wave of smoke hit him, hot against his cowl and smelling distinctly ashen and…  
Oh no.

Bruce radioed in.

“Superman, Wonder Woman, help me evacuate at my location.” He ran inside, toward the first life-sign and through the cloud of smoke and gas.  
“There’s seven civilians still inside, and a large gas leak. No way to tell how long we’ve got.”  
He grabbed the first body, a teenage girl, she was wheezing, her eyes rimmed red and closed; close to passing out, likely from the smoke inhalation. He ran back toward the fire escape, only to find a large, on fire, wooden support beam blocking his way.

Fuck.

The girl was gasping now; he pulled off the mask from his own face, no time to grab his extra, and shoved it over her mouth, securing it as best he could as he ran from room to room. His lungs ached at the smoke and the gas, the taste filling his mouth like ash and blood.  
Finally, he found an unblocked, reachable window. He grabbed a batarang and threw it. The glass shattering on impact.

“Superman!” Batman yelled.  
In an instant, he was there, Batman handed the girl, who was now fully unconscious, through the window.  
He hacked out a violent cough, grabbing at his extra breathing mask. He ran back inside, tugging it on without a word, toward the second life-sign. He turned toward the stairs, the blazing heat waving in his vision. The floor under him cracked ominously, but he couldn’t stop moving. He couldn’t stop.  
A young boy and is baby brother were curled up in a closet, he hadn’t had time to do much more than scoop them both up in his arms before - he was falling.  
The kids screamed, the baby was crying.  
He turned so he would hit is back on the impact, the second floor down, third- each crumbling harshly. He landed on his ribs with a crunch that sent pain flaring all through his body.  
The kids were still tight to his chest though, they were safe; or safer.  
He barely had time to stand before the almost angelic form of Wonder Woman rushed through.  
He handed the children to her without a word.

“Batman,” Diana was quick with her words, “Red Robin says this place is about to blow-“

“I know,” Batman growled, he turned.

Diana must have gotten the others back outside already, or most of them at least- he could see a man, two levels up, that was definitely not going to make it to an escape. And his life-signs were fading fast.

Batman scaled a ceiling beam, that was now slanted upward against the wall. Channeling Dick as much as he could, Batman balanced almost three quarters of the way up - and then the beam snapped.  
Bruce barely grabbed a hold of a rebar-rod that was jutting out from one of the still standing walls. It was red hot though, sizzling through his gloves like they were butter.  
Bruce swung upward and grappled to a ceiling beam. It creaked under his weight, but otherwise held.  
He pulled himself up, muscles aching with every movement. The heat and the weight of his armor, the movement, as well as his injuries weighed him down. But he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t.

Batman made it up, leveraged his weight and swung, leaping over and onto where the last civilian was.  
He grabbed the unconscious man, and fuck was he heavy. But once he was over his shoulder, he leapt down, careful not to knock the civilian but quick to know he had gotten lucky as far as timing went-

And then the gas hit the fire.  
Batman and the man were thrown forward by the propulsion of the blast, the heat seared his neck, and the landing threw out his shoulder and off his face mask.

“Ouch,” Batman let out a groan, pushing himself up.  
The man had been thrown out of his arms, but, looking over to see him sprawled out on the pavement, hacking out coughs; Batman figured he’d be okay.

“Batman!” There were two, young looking medics at his side only seconds after he’d managed to stand, hovering close by, hands outstretched as if wishing to touch, but unsure how to not hurt him.  
Batman stood up straight. Thankfully, his armor had taken most of the damage from the explosion and resulting skid across the pavement… but his ribs had seen better days.  
Then again they’d also seen worse.

“I’m fine. Take him to the ambulance,” Batman said.

The two medics took a moment, before nodding and lifting the man’s arms over both their shoulders.  
They paused a moment.

“Ah, Batman… sir?” The older looking, still sheepish medic spoke.  
Batman grunted, checking his holo-computer, scans, and any other data.  
It seemed like they’d gotten everything done…

“I, uh, really think you should get checked out,” the kid couldn’t be older than twenty, his inexperience was obvious. And normally, if the kid didn’t remind him so much of Tim, he wouldn’t’ve even dignified it with a response.  
But he did, so he went along with it… for now.

 

And by another medical bay, no one seemed to notice as Dick and Tim pulled Diana aside, supposedly to check on Diana’s wound, an unnecessary precaution given her healing factor, but heavily supported by Clark.  
She smiled and shook her head, but went along with it anyway, gifting him a quick kiss as he sat beside her and Dick prodded at her thigh, cleaning out the wound in practiced motions.

“Quick question,” Dick asked from where he had been taking far longer than necessary to clean the injury that was practically already-healed.  
Diana nodded in assent, and Clark had been taking a drink from the small juice box of apple-juice that Tim had given him.  
“How long have you two been in love with my dad?”

Clark’s spit-take would’ve been hilarious if it hadn't soaked Nightwing to the bone.  
Tim, of course, had no such quandaries and doubled over laughing, while both Clark and Diana went bright red from differing shades of embarrassment.   
The younger did pass Dick a hand-towel though, so it wasn't all that bad.  
Dick spared the couple a smile as they sputtered excuses, but Diana, being a champion of truth, did quickly wilt.

“Does he know?” She asked self-consciously, but it was easy to assume that was a yes.  
Her hand squeezed Clark’s.

“If it were anyone else, he’d be all over it. But he has more issues than the rest of the league combined, and he’s got that whole ‘no one can love me, I’m a monster’ thang,” Dick muttered, slowly getting quieter through the sentence.  
Tim handed him a bandage, it was unnecessary seeing as she barely had a bruise anymore, but it gave him something to do.  
“But listen, if you are planning to… woo him,” Tim snickered at the phrasing, but then both got serious.  
“You should know that there are a lot of reasons, a lot of good, valid, important reasons that he keeps people out.”  
Dick wrapped the bandages around her thigh, maybe a little tighter than necessary.  
“And if you guys are serious about this, then you should go for it. We’ll even help you out,” he nodded toward his brothers.  
Then both of them turned on a glare, all of them. Jason included, somehow, from across their block-sized battle ground.  
“But if you break his heart he may never recover. And if he doesn't, we will all make it our personal mission to assure your painful, terrible, accidental demise.” The glare continued for a moment, and both resident supers found themselves shivering, just a little, under the weight of the promise.  
“Got it?”  
They nodded faster than they’d ever nodded before, and when the glares finally faded, both took a breath, and Clark regained a bit of courage.

“We’ve already thought that through, and…” Their hands clasped tighter, together.

“We want to see him happy.” Diana’s voice was soft and warm, and it made Dick smile warmly once more.

“Told ya’.” Dick said, Tim nodded, and both of them realized that Jason was leaning on Cassandra’s shoulder, who simply nodded, quiet as always.  
Wait, when did they get there?

“Hey, better safe than sorry, ‘specially with the old man.” Jason shrugged, and Dick nodded.  
Funny, Diana never would’ve pegged the gun-toting anti-hero for the protective sort.

“What’s this about an ‘old man’?” Bruce’s voice startled damn near all of them, and the glare he sent to his second eldest was more playful than they would’ve otherwise expected.  
He had a bandage wrapped around the torn mesh of his inner left bicep, but otherwise seemed unharmed.  
Not that anyone could tell if he wanted to hide it; well, anyone but Alfred.  
“Oh nothing~” Jason sang, knowing that not telling would be more fun than continuing. Bruce’s practiced, familial glare grew suspicious for a moment, until he noticed the bandages around Diana’s thigh.  
Dick immediately stepped to the side, barely hiding the knowing smirk on his lips as his adoptive father went into protective mode.  
It was then that, silently as they could, the younger bats left their elders alone and went to help with cleanup like everyone else.  
Diana fought back a blush at the vision of Bruce’s head between her thighs. His gauntlets on her soft flesh were cool and gentle, and she fought the urge to close her legs, or worse, open them more.  
Clark, meanwhile was having to fight his own set of urges at such a view, and it seemed the only face not set aflame was the emotionless Batman, who prodded around the ‘injury’ for a moment, before pulling away all too soon.

Just as he met their gaze, and Bruce went to speak, a chirp alerted him from his communicator.

“Batman, go.” His very posture was a command as he straightened up, he nodded in response to whatever he heard.

“I’ll be there. Superman, Wonder Woman,” he addressed, cold and business like.  
They sighed, but nodded.  
“There’s some sort of toxic sludge monster calling itself Kaonashi, attacking Tampa-bay. Can you tackle things here while I-” Tim cut in.

“They should go help, we’ve got it all settled here,” Tim waved off the pausing eye his adoptive father gave, then nodded, turning back.

“Are you both good enough to help?” Bruce asked the couple, Diana and Clark all fought off smiles at his obvious concern.  
Diana and Clark met eyes, then turned back to Bruce and nodded.  
And then they were off.  
Bruce boarding the Batwing and watching, slightly dejectedly, as Clark and Diana soared off hand in hand.

Due to his distraction, he did not notice the woman in the alley way, watching, disappearing into the crowds.


	5. Chapter Four, The Steam Clouding Our Senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE HERE FOR FOLKS! THE SMUT IS HERE!
> 
>  
> 
> well,,, sorta.
> 
> *cue evil smirk*

Sometimes, Clark really wanted to curse his super-senses.  
Sometimes, it was cursing more on the level that it would be nice to just have a normal life. Not be afraid of breaking everything he touched, not hear every conversation in every room across the continent, not feel the need to put his life on the line every other Sunday.  
Today it was more because of the ringing in his ears every time the monster screamed something that sounded like ‘kahheté’, in other words, gibberish.  
But according to the all-knowing Batman, meant ‘go away’ in Japanese.  
That, the fact that it was calling itself Kaonashi, which apparently means ‘faceless’ in Japanese, made the fact that it was attacking in Tampa-bay in Florida give Clark the distinct feeling it might not be from around here.  
So, after dragging the thing away from the populated areas and finding out that the sludge the creature had been made of, and consequentially got all over the hero’s, had been toxic, it had been a rush against the clock to finish the job and clean up, as well as not contaminate the water supply or the ocean.  
Aquaman being on their side made that particular feat far less daunting, and after finding that Clark’s freeze breath was quite affective against the creature when paired with Batman’s exploding batarangs, they won with few casualties and no deaths.

“Well, you guys took longer than I thought ya would,” Nightwing smiled at the group, the familiar tingle of the transporter fading as they stepped off the pad and onto the watchtower floor.  
“Yeesh, that good huh?” He asked, motioning to their bruises, torn clothes, and the fact that they were covered in disgusting smelling greenish-brownish-sludge.  
Clark once again cursed his super senses as he held down the urge to wretch at just the scent of it, not even getting into the disgusting, sticky, chunky consistency.

“Why aren't you at the cave?” Batman asked curtly, but his son heard the real question behind it.  
Why are you here? What happened? What’s wrong?

“Just thought I’d check out the watchtower end of things, see how you’re doing,” Dick shrugged and Bruce winced at the sound of his shoes squelching against the metal floors, leaving a trail of toxic mud and gunk on the clean, metal ground.  
A voice that sounded suspiciously like Alfred’s in his head reprimanded him for such a mess, but he was thankful to see the urgency to which the cleaning bots took to it.  
“Plus the communicators are on the fritz and Tim needed a reliable set of hands on this end.” Dick then brightened up, an idea popping into his head like a lightbulb flicking on.  
He turned to Bruce.  
“But since you’re here, think ya’ can take this end while Tim and I do the cave?” He paused, looking his mentor up and down, “after a good shower of course.”  
He smirked, but there was question lingering, evident in the curve of his smile and the peak of his brow; even under his domino mask.  
Bruce hated showering on the watchtower. Why hadn’t he zeta’d straight to the bat-cave?

“Toxic waste.” He gestured to the gunk that marred his uniform, Dick hummed and nodded empathetically.  
He knew his mentor would likely shower in the uniform unless presented with no other option, and seeing the tares across the shoulders and the way Clark and Diana watched him, with the kind of nervous caring-love that only they could really accomplish…  
Dick smirked.  
You’ll thank me for this someday, Bruce.  
And so, Dick eagerly set his plan into motion.

“Well, while you do that, why don’t I take the suit down to Alf’ to get it washed? I’m ninety percent sure he just cleaned the cave, and he’s gonna have a fit if you track dust, much less toxic waste down there.”  
Dick smiled as innocently as he could as his mentor paled a single shade, and nodded.  
Bruce wouldn’t deny that the butler’s wrath was definitely worth avoiding cave-sweet-home for a few hours.

“I’ll be sure to zeta you up a towel and some clothes too, so you can work up here while Alfred repairs the bat-suit.”  
Dick noticed his mentor moved to object, only to shift his shoulder and notice a hole in the suit and an open gash. He’d already cleaned all open wounds, but he did feel absolutely disgusting in the soggy, disgusting suit…  
Deciding it better to wash than argue, he nodded.  
‘Why don't you stay up here and work on it while I clean up?’  
His mentor asked with a look before they turned in toward the separate, private showers that were supplied for the main seven of the league, the founders, all of whom knew his identity.  
It was one of the few pleasures they got, being the highest of the high; gods among the kings who protected the earth.  
Bruce was just glad there wouldn't be any security breaches as he pulled off his cowl and ran a hand through slick black hair.

“Why don’t you work on it while I clean up, then I can take over?” Bruce asked calmly.

“Can’t. Promised Dami a Code RR,” Dick responded casually, pointedly ignoring how Clark looked like a tomato as he watched Dick’s adopted father strip.  
Dick just rolled his eyes. Could the man be more obvious?

“Is he okay?” Bruce asked, oddly enough, aloud.  
A ‘code RR’ usually meant a hot dinner, a bubble bath, and a bedtime story, with alterations based on preference and person. Something usually reserved for when anyone in the family was feeling especially down.  
Dick shrugged again.

“Dami was angrier than he looked when that man tried to sacrifice his daughter to save himself in that collapsed building… and he looked damn near homicidal,” Dick muttered, suddenly wishing that his little brother was here with him.  
Bruce just nodded, he knew how protective his eldest got; even if he hadn’t witnessed it first hand…  
Bruce unclasped his chest plate and folded his cape, placing both down on the bench next to Dick, who stared slightly dejectedly at the floor.  
Bruce ruffled his eldest son’s hair.  
Dick protested half-heartedly and batted Bruce’s hand away, but he was smiling, and that’s all Bruce cared about.

“Damian may not like to admit it, but he has feelings,” Bruce said softly, “the best you can do for him is be there.” The words formed like a promise on his lips.  
And Dick nodded. His father didn’t have to say every word to show what he meant; Bruce was, without saying it, acknowledging that Dick and Damian had a closer bond than he and Damian did. And that Dick was the best person to help him in this way.

“Yeah, I know.” Dick gathered all his mentor’s things with a sigh and a tired smile, leaving the elder simply standing in his damn-near-destroyed boxers, and what was left of the strange sludge.  
Dick smiled at him again, this one a tad lighter.

“You should get in the shower before you get super-powers, old man.”  
Dick snarked, Bruce raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“What? It’s how Spiderman did it; radioactive spider,” Dick protested.  
Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Spiderman isn’t real, we don’t live in a comic book.”  
Dick laughed.

“Hey, you could’a fooled me,” he gestured to his bright Nightwing emblem and Bruce rolled his eyes as his eldest left the room, snatching the bag of toiletries the other threw toward him.  
They spared each-other a nod before finally departing.  
Bruce stretched out his shoulders and sorted through the small leather sack, making sure everything was accounted for, shampoo, soap, the works. Then he headed swiftly off toward the showers. 

That was when he noticed Diana and Clark staring at him.  
Probably because of all the muck and grime on him, he thought, casually trying to wipe away the remaining gunk. He grimaced at the lingering smell and rather unpleasant texture. Or maybe it was his scars - piped in a quiet, cold voice at the edge of his pleasant mood.  
They were in-damageable gods, each with healing that would keep them young and strong long after he was six feet under. Maybe they had never seen such ugly reminders of past pain…  
He turned, catching their eyes.  
Both meta’s looked down and away, saying something to each-other that he didn’t quite catch, but he didn’t really need to.  
He noticed they were both still fully clothed, and raised an eyebrow at their odd activities.Diana hated being wet in clothes, even disliked bathing suits to a certain extent, much preferring the traditional amazonian way of swimming. Plus, the smell had to be offending Clark’s super-senses somehow.  
So why… Bruce laughed a little as he deduced that, most likely they were scared of being naked in front of each-other.  
He shook his head slightly. Only in his life did he see actual god-like beings acting like awkward teenagers in a gym locker room.

He quieted his paranoid mind with that, and moved into the shower area.

Hanging up the toiletry bag on the shower head, and stripping out of his shredded boxers, he tossed the scrap-fabric casually into a bio-hazard-disposal bin, and moved underneath the shower head.  
Bruce sighed in glorious satisfaction as the pressure plates in the tile turned on at his weight and the spray of hot water shot down his chest. He reveled in the heat and the cleansing feeling, then breathed gently into the steam.Easily enough, the muck fell away, leaving all but a calm, hot spray of liquid serenity in its wake.

Outside, Clark was fiddling with the edges of his cape, which he had unclasped and now held in his hands, he tried to keep his breathing steady, but the image of Bruce in tattered boxers… his pale skin alight with crosshatching scars that looked like he’d gotten into a fist fight with a hurricane, those stunning eyes and jet black hair… the image just wouldn't go away.  
And at the soft and sweet sigh that Bruce let out from the other room, he couldn't help but imagine such a satisfied noise being made in a very different setting.  
Diana didn't appear to be doing much better.

“In your research, have you come across anything that could help us?” Diana asked, keeping her tone as casual as she could, hips wiggling as she failed to hide her arousal and shimmied out from her outfit, slowly shedding the enchanted armor.  
They were facing away from each-other, for common decency’s sake if nothing more, but that didn't mean she couldn't sneak a peek…

“Kinda…?” He answered cryptically, slowly peeling off the wet suit and throwing it to the side, hoping to get the smell as far away from him as possible.  
Subconsciously, he also wiggled closer to Diana. Her scent was far more appealing…

“Kinda?” She questioned, stepping out of her boots before unclasping her enchanted bodice, revealing a soft luscious bosom that made Clark want to both turn away, and move closer…  
He settled on the former, earning a teasing giggle from Diana as his cheeks grew to match his cape in hue, and he hurriedly tried to move on.

“Yeah, well, apparently there’s all sorts of different polyamory. Open, being we’re free to date whoever we want, while still being in a relationship with each-other. Closed, that- well, meaning it’d just be the three of us. And… what I guess I want is closed, but-but if you want something else that’s fine too! I mean, I don’t-” Clark found himself silenced by a finger over his lips, he didn't remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them he found the stunning, naked form of Diana, in all her tan-skinned, supple curved, muscular glory, smiling at him.  
He swallowed harshly, hands fidgeting at his sides. Wishing, longing to touch, but apprehensive and unsure.

“All I want is for all of us to be happy,” she whispered, leering closer, a hand smoothly gliding up his jawline and curling around his neck, Clark tried to keep himself from shaking as her breasts pressed softly against the bare muscle of his broad chest and her lips neared, but did not meet with his.  
He let out a tiny, gentle whine, the need to be close overwhelming him as he placed a hand on her hip, her muscular, naked hip, and gripped it as a small means to ground himself from the electric fire she spread through his veins.  
She smirked, eyes hooded and lust heavy as she slowly, teasingly slowly, leaned the shallow inch forward and pressed their lips together.  
Her lips were a sensation like no other, slick and warm, she tasted like sweet earth and raspberries, and she pulled away all too soon.

“Diana,” he whispered, like she was his best kept secret.  
She smiled again, a dangerously sexy look, and tapped his lips with another, far more chaste, far less satisfying kiss, interweaving her hand with his and slowly removing it from her hip.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” she hummed, lifting their clasped hands to kiss the back of his, softly.  
She squeezed his hand once before dropping it, moving off toward the showers. Her voice was fluid and musical, and like he was under a siren’s spell, he followed, trying to keep his slowly stiffening member from hardening as he entered to the showers that welled with steam.  
It was when he saw Bruce’s naked form, strong, taught muscle curled around his tight form, the man more scar tissue than skin, that trying to keep himself flaccid went straight out the window.  
Both he and Diana simply stood, completely nude in the doorway; neither able to deny their deep arousal at the scene.  
Clark’s member twitched, Diana’s nipples hardened at the cool air at her back intermingling with the steam beckoning them onward. Clark could smell the sweet tang of her arousal faintly through the fog of herbal water.  
Clark swallowed, the bob of his Adams apple catching Diana’s wandering eye. Clark found his mouth far to dry, urning to taste the expanse of alabaster skin that Bruce lay out so innocently for them.  
Would he be salty with sweat? Would he taste the tang of leather he always smelled like? Something in-between? Or possibly something sweeter?  
This was one of the times Clark cursed his enhanced senses, not because it was bad, but because this time… it was far too good.  
Diana’s hand found his as it so often did, as she lead him over to his own shower head two away from Bruce’s. It was there, as the warm jets of water rushed over him, that he realized he could smell her too.  
His own heart grew to rival a hummingbird’s wing in beat, as he realized they were all alone.

Alone.  
Bruce and him.  
Bruce and Diana and him.  
Alone and naked.  
Alone and naked in the showers.  
Where the steam seemed to amplify their natural scents, Diana’s of sweet white sand beaches and steel, of familiarity and a tang like a fine cocktail of alcohol and passion fruit served under the bright burning sun.  
And Bruce.  
Bruce who smelt like leather darkness and cognac spilled on freshly signed paperwork, Bruce who sometimes smelled like cigar smoke and fresh cologne, Bruce who, beneath every other scent imprinted on his skin, held another sweeter, fresh scent. A sweet sort of tang that reminded Clark of fresh air, a crisp sensation he couldn’t quite place, but it tasted like home and apples plucked fresh from the tree at midnight, it was a time where mischief was high and the chances of getting caught were low, and it made his mouth water all the same.  
And then something stronger impeded his senses.  
It was like the sort of cinnamon-coffee smell that he was currently washing from his lathered hair, but more floral than that. It was still strong, and it left the air smelling how silk felt against his skin, soft and glossy and expensive and so exquisitely Bruce.  
Clark knew it was the clear soap bar that was held carelessly in Bruce’s solid hand, Clark knew it probably cost more than his rent and he could see little slivers of what seemed to be gemstones, with what looked to be small leaves and flowers frozen within the clear bar, but all he could think about was how it slid so delicately across Bruce’s moonlit skin. How absolutely erotic it looked sliding up his forearm, gliding over the expanse of his chest, gliding over his soft nipples and down, down, down…  
Clark looked over as he heard Diana’s heartbeat flutter and quicken, and he knew she was thinking the same thing.  
They both looked away and tried to just focus on cleaning up, but now that the scent of the toxic sludge was gone… it was all the harder to resist the allure.  
Clark focused on the spray, focused everything on the water on his body, the cool slick of soap against his own skin…  
But every other second his mind would drift, every other moment his eyes would linger in every place they shouldn’t be.  
And maybe it was because it was wrong that it felt so exhilarating, or maybe it was so exhilarating because it felt so wrong… but-

“Clark,” Bruce’s voice snapped in his usual curt, careful fashion.  
The owner of the name startled, not a good thing to do on slippery tile, but clasping the wall and hovering a bit, he managed to get a hold of himself and tried to look as natural as he could, leaning with one elbow on the wall and a hand on his hip, looking him directly in the eye.  
In the eye.  
Not anywhere else.  
“You seem distracted,” Bruce was so calm, of course he was calm. Running a gentle hand through stunning black hair as hot water continued to cascade down his hot, naked body.  
Bruce was all angles, Clark noticed, a semi-unwilling participant to his eyes journey down the chiseled lines of Bruce’s body.  
He was sharp and intimidating; with high cheek bones and soft lips, sharp clavicles accented by the rush of water that poured hot down his taught, muscular form. Over rippling pecks and perfect abs, over the-  
Clark paused as he saw it.  
Bruce was hurt.  
Several rather large splotches of color, the center a sickly yellow, surrounded by a mahogany red and a deep purple around the outside, stained his skin.  
He grimaced at it, like it had personally offended him, and in a way it had. Bruce was hurt and he hadn’t even noticed.  
His fists clenched and teeth grit down on themselves.

“You’re hurt,” Clark spat, he was sure it would have sounded fierce if his sky blue eyes weren’t threatening rain, threatening tears at the mere concept of pain for someone who deserved so much more.  
Bruce blinked, like he himself hadn’t noticed.  
He looked down at the offending side.

Clark hadn’t even noticed he had moved until he as right up next to Bruce. The shower-head right next to it, triggered by the motion and the pressure beneath it, shot it’s hot spray onto Clark, he didn't notice or mind, far to focused on Bruce.  
Bruce.  
His skin was soft, embroidered with small white stretch marks and encrusted with scars, studding his skin with stories like an untold tapestry.  
Clark hadn't even noticed his hand reaching out before it met the bruise-darkened skin —the heated, warm skin that had tinted slightly peach by the heat of the shower— until Bruce batted his hand away.  
Gun-metal blue eyes met his own sky blues, freedom and challenge clashing like titans, and Diana’s own blue eyes, the shifting, open ocean, swept forward in a tsunami of her own willpower.

“I’m fine, it’s old news.” Bruce’s tone was assuring, but it didn’t matter to Clark anyway, because Bruce was hurt and he should have noticed damn it.  
Bruce batted away a second offending hand, but this one was too delicate to be Clark’s.  
His heartbeat raised the smallest amount, not enough to be noticed, but enough for heat to rise in his chest and cheeks as he noticed just how naked, close, and laser focused on his body both Clark and Diana were.  
And then there was a sponge on his back, soft, a little cold and a lot soapy against his skin, —he noticed then that it was not his own soap but Diana’s coconut body wash, a truly intoxicating scent— it was enough to make him shiver, and he could feel Diana’s hands pressing against him, the tension in his shoulders went just a little more lax as her hands danced and found their way around his broad form.  
Diana’s hands were almost curious, how she kneaded softly at the muscle. The movements were veteran, yet new, and she didn’t seem to realize his chest was larger than she seemed used to.  
Then again, having learned from an island of women, who generally have less broadness in the shoulders than men do, it would make that make a lot of sense.  
And there was a hand gliding across his wound too, but that one was far heavier, more careful, almost fearful. It was smooth and thick, completely inhuman but just as warm as one, if not warmer. Clark’s sun-fueled tan on his own sickly pale skin, lingering there as if wishing to heal it through will alone.

Bruce would say he wanted to bat the hand away… but he didn’t.

There was pandemonium in his mind, screaming that he shouldn't be letting this happen, he’s taken too much out of their touch, that their attention would be better served anywhere else, on anyone else, on someone who wouldn't distort it into some perverted fantasy where he’s held in the hands of gods, where he is loved by them as they love each other-

“You’re injured. You should have told us so we could help wash you, it wouldn't do to stress yourself.” Bruce hated how her voice sounded. So soft and urning, like she wanted to do this. But why on earth would a goddess like her want to take care of some foolhardy mortal with a bat-costume and a death-wish?  
Diamond eyes turned to ocean blues, but the waves did not receded, and the open skies do not falter.  
The entire world stared him down, and he couldn't say a word in his defense, because every thought only alluded a ‘why wont you let us be close’, and then the truth would be out. They would ask for words he couldn't speak, because silence was the only protection he had. The truth was unsafe, it always would be. And whatever his response could be, it wouldn't.Silence was the best way to keep them both from thinking to hard on it, and if he didn't have them ask, he wouldn't have to answer.  
And that lie of omission would hold his heart at bay; if only for one more day.

But Diana’s hands on his skin felt so nice, and so soft, and soothing… He wanted to come undone there, with them.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, tone somewhere between a whisper and a snap, with nearly no bite behind it.  
It went fluidly ignored.  
Diana instead just gently handed Clark the sponge over Bruce’s shoulder, and with all the care in the world, Clark went about lathering Bruce’s broad, muscular chest with the sweet-scented soap.  
Diana took her own time to wash the rest of the suds from his back, and pressed her hands softly into his alabaster skin, kneading slowly at the tense muscles beneath.  
The air thick, lingering between them all, mist welling with all their combined scents, an aphrodisiac that took a strangle-hold of Clark’s senses, and with a steady yet uneasy hand, Clark guided the soft sponge, weaving it over Bruce’s flesh with a care Bruce felt he could never deserve, nay, he knew he would never deserve it.  
And yet, he did nothing to dissuade their touch, their soft, firm, warm hands grazing across his form, slowly massaging the tightly coiled ‘don’t’ built off lies and half-facts, until his self-loathing gave way to loving caresses, and unwound him into a curling, soft, ‘please’.  
He tried to move away from their touch, but he was pressed firmly between them.  
He wanted this, but he couldn’t.  
It was already taking most of his concentration to focus on anything but how Clark’s free hand, the one that was not ever so gently lathering his chest, held just fractions of an inch away from his hips. How his warm eyes narrowed in pin-point focus, as if this, not the world or any crisis, but simply caring for Bruce, were the most important task he had ever taken on. How Clark would look up to him every so often, as if asking permission to continue, and he’d wet his lips just often enough for it to drive Bruce slowly insane.  
And then there was Diana.  
Diana, who’s hands still freely roamed his shoulders, releasing tension from his neck, back, and very soul with her ministrations. Diana who’s hands glided so effortlessly over his scars and wounds like they were badges pinned to his chest; to be honored, not hidden from sight.  
Bruce ground his teeth and balled his fists, trying to will himself to stay alert, to not give into the delicious feelings they so readily offered, something he so thoughtlessly took advantage of.

“Bruce, am I hurting you?” Clark asked, halting the slow glide of the soapy sponge over his bruised ribs. His voice was overflowing with the utmost care and love Bruce had ever heard, and the hot fondness pressed at his chest and made Bruce’s breathing quicken.

“We shouldn’t… you shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But why? We wish to help you,” Diana whispered, her words soft, even softer than her hands that curled loosely around his waist. Something in his stomach churned at how easily she leaned close, pressing her breasts against the firm muscles in his back in a way that could definitely no longer be described as platonic; well, for anyone that understood the boundaries of Man’s World. He could feel the calm rise and fall of her chest, the slow touch of her hands that wandered so freely, yet, so cautiously.

Breathing elevated, Bruce began to panic.  
He would hurt them, he was sure of it. And beyond whatever this was, he couldn't. Truly, he shouldn’t even let it get this far. But their touch was his addiction, and it sent a stubborn fire through every bit of his needy soul.

But if Batman had one super-power, it was his will.  
And using that, before he could reconsider, he held out a hand, pushing away Clark’s chest.  
Immediately, Clark was still. The sponge in his hand off his bruised ribs. Held, quite literally, at arms length.  
Both Diana and Clark’s eyes went wide, where there was once relaxation and closeness felt a tense sort of fear; because damn it, they fucked it up.  
Clark wanted to slap himself. Of course they fucked it up. They’re them, and he’s him. So of course it couldn’t be this easy. 

“…Thanks,” he whispered, voice low and tight, “for your help.”  
He swallowed and turned from them.  
“I’m going to get dressed.”

Bruce slipped between the two of them, both hero’s of amazing strength, unable to move, to do much more than stand and revel in how much they’d fucked up. Every regret, from taking things too fast, to the smallest touches, that lined their lips as Bruce retreated, footfalls quick and light across the shower tile and exited the room.

And a few seconds later, when the shower-head turned off due to lack of weight on the plates, it was like waking from a dream, or maybe a fantasy. But no matter what it was, it’s done with now.  
Clark cursed his super-senses once more, because he can still smell Bruce in the air.  
Like a ghost in the steam, he lingered.


End file.
